


maybe it will work out in the end

by orphan_account



Category: Macbeth - Shakespeare
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Canon, lennox blames himself for everything, macduff is far too nice to be allowed to exist, two bros... chilling in a thunderstorm... no feet apart cause they are gay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-15
Updated: 2019-11-15
Packaged: 2021-01-30 22:49:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21435991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Lennox didn't know why he woke on that cold morning.Perhaps, he thought, he'd never really slept.
Relationships: Lennox/Macduff
Kudos: 5





	maybe it will work out in the end

Lennox didn't know why he woke on that cold morning.

Perhaps, he thought, he'd never really slept.

The night was rough, even as he had gotten into bed beforehand. The trees and grass had shaken violently with the passing wind, and dark storm clouds had coated the night sky with their presence. He had tried to sleep despite the distractions, of course, and he thought he did doze off at some point, but the noise of the thunder had inevitably eventually stirred him too far to go back into whatever slumber he had been in before.

Taking a step from his bed towards the window, Lennox peered at the sky. The weather, from the shifting grounds of his small castle to the visible lightning strikes that destroyed the land beneath them when they came, reminded him distinctly of the night that he had spent in Macbeth's castle before Duncan's murder.

He didn't like to think about it much, if he were to be honest. Of course, he'd had his suspicions about Macbeth from the very beginning. He just didn't think they were going to become as violently relevant as they did.

Maybe if he'd spoken up more at the time, more peoples' lives could have been saved.

Lennox shook his head to himself, dismissing the thought quickly. It was too late to reflect on the past so much. There was nothing he could have done. Even if he'd spoken up, what would it have been for? He would have just been killed, surely. That was how Macbeth's tyranny worked, anyway. There was no semblance of humanity in the man's being whatsoever, and Lennox wasn't sure that he had even known what the word meant.

...Although, neither had Lennox, really. He had used Macbeth just as much as Macbeth has used him, and when his reign finally stopped being of use to him, he had joined forces with the other Thanes to murder him. Perhaps false loyalty for the sake of his own selfishness, he thought, could be just as damnable as the deeds Macbeth committed.

Lennox sighed. These thoughts weren't doing him any favours.

Turning from the window, he called his butler to his door, who arrived readily upon the command. Almost as soon as he had given him instructions to do so, the butler arrived back with Lennox's cloak and clothing. Within 10 minutes, he was ready to go outside.

"Sir, you don't wish for anyone to accompany you?" the servant had asked him.

"I don't think a thunderstorm will kill me," Lennox had joked back weakly, sheathing his sword through onto the notch of his belt.

He wasn't sure if he wanted the thunderstorm to kill him or not. All he knew was that he had to get away from the stuffy constraints of the castle he was in and everything that it signified.

As he walked out of the door, Lennox took in a deep breath of air, his eyes barely adjusting to the dark night around him. He had not taken a torch, as the heavy downpour wouldn't have helped him anyway. He just needed to think, he said to himself. He just needed to convince himself that everything was okay, that he had made the right decision, that Macbeth was dead and that that was all that mattered.

And so Lennox stepped forwards and through and around the area of his grounds as the storm surged high above him, and he began to think. He thought about Macbeth's defeat: did he even help at all? Or was he just standing there, waving a tree branch, like a magnet attracted to whatever source was more powerful? What about the soldiers who fought alongside him? Were they, too, driven by selfish motivations? And, he dared to ponder, what about the Thanes? What would they say if they knew that he had cursed Macbeth since the beginning of his reign? What would they say if they had heard how much he had asked about them, how they were doing, if their invasion was going smoothly? What would they do if they knew of his own awful attitudes, attitudes bad enough to rival the power-hungry tyrant Macbeth? Would they murder him, too?

Lennox stopped suddenly in the field, suddenly struck by two very difficult realisations that a Thane wandering in the dark should never have.

One: He hadn't remarked this area of the field before. It was a nice place, but, realistically, not one he could find his way back from in the dark. Lennox was, as annoyed as he may have been to admit it, lost.

Two: As long as his eyes weren't deceiving him (though he could never really be sure, especially with the lack of proper lighting anywhere around) there was some creature, some man or shadow in front of him, kneeling up next to one of the trees in the field. And, whatever it was, it was definitely moving.

Drawing his sword, Lennox cautiously stepped towards the darkened silhouette. The figure seemed to shake in the darkness, possibly because of the thick wind and thunder around. Lennox squinted his eyes. He hated the weather, and he hated this animal. He could kill it, or something, and stick its head on a pointed stick as a final act of service against Macbeth.

As soon as he got near, he grasped his sword with both hands and slashed at the figure once before hearing a surprised "Ugh!" sound. Lennox widened his eyes as he watched the darkened cast, now spread out more to bear the appearance of a human, roll across the wet field and away from Lennox's crushing blade. As Lennox squinted his eyes once more in the darkness, he barely made out the facial features of a man he was more than familiar with.

In a hushed whisper which was almost lost in the rain, he spoke. "...Macduff?"

The figure reluctantly got up from his laid position on the field, brushing himself off as he walked sheepishly towards Lennox. "...Morning, Lennox."

"What on earth are you doing out here?"

Macduff looked up to the sky, then back to Lennox cryptically. "I could ask you the same thing." Even despite the man's undignified appearance earlier, the words still rolled off his lips confidently and smoothly, as if he were merely rehearsing lines in a play. If Macduff found out about his own personal greed, Lennox thought to himself, he'd never speak to him again, especially not after his own rocky relationship with Macbeth.

Before Lennox had time to ponder anymore, though, he heard lightning strike further away from the field. Macduff's shadow jumped reflexively into Lennox before clumsily moving away again.

"...I'm sorry," he said bluntly. "It's just that this weather, it... it just..."

He hung on the edge of the sentence as Lennox tried and failed to decipher his expression from the dark. He didn't need to, though, and he finished the phrase straight away. "It's similar to the night that Duncan died, isn't it?"

Macduff didn't say anything for a few seconds. "...Yes, very," he said, taking what Lennox assumed to be a cloak and wrapping it further around himself. "...It just worries me slightly, is all. Nothing much."

Lennox looked around in the darkness, scanning for familiar terrain, before turning back to Macduff. "I just came out to relax my mind," he said, leaning against the tree the two were perched under. "You're awfully far from your castle, aren't you? How worried even were you?"

Seeming to redden, Macduff joined him, leaning against the same side of the tree. "...Admittedly, yes, I was worried. But, Lennox, aren't you also far from yours?"

The sound of lightning struck again, and Macduff jumped and shook with the wind. Lennox wondered if he should put his arm on Macduff's shoulder, but dismissed it entirely soon after. Macduff wouldn't want the company of a traitor, after all.

"I had a lot to think about," he finally said, looking upwards so as to avoid Macduff's gaze.

This response, however, seemed to only interest Macduff more, and Lennox could feel his gaze remain planted upon him. "Well," he responded, "I've got time."

He leaned in closer to Lennox, and Lennox could feel the other Thane relax against him. He tensed ever-so-slightly, but struggled to tell if the reflex action was from the rough night or from something else. Looking to the ground, he gathered up his thoughts, ears filled with the wind and the rain around him. He could get out of this, he knew that. He could make up some excuse, feed Macduff some lie about needing to go back to his own castle, but there was still something residing inside him that told him not to, that told him to trust Macduff.

Lennox sighed. He really needed to get some sleep.

Nevertheless, he spoke to Macduff as fluently as he could through the violent sounds of the storm. He told him about the time they'd both visited Macbeth's castle, about how he'd not been entirely sure about the King's safety whilst under Macbeth's care, about how he'd seen and heard and observed a few things slightly out of place. He told him about when Macbeth was declared King, about how he seemed so certain during the ceremony, about how changed his attitude was from the grief he had put on display a few days prior. He told him about Banquo's murder, about how he'd gone to Macbeth's dinner party after the deed had been done, about how he'd watched as the King had acted so deluded and psychotic and overall wrecked, and about how he had felt as though he could have changed things, made everyone so much happier, if only he had said something. 

But, he told Macduff, he didn't say anything. And even now, even after the bloodshed and chaos his silence had caused, even if he wouldn't face any consequences for his words, if he were to go back in time, he still wouldn't say anything.

Macduff merely listened to Lennox's worries thoughtfully, an unreadable expression upon his face the entire time. Despite what Lennox told him, though, he didn't seem to move from his side, instead choosing to remain in his position against Lennox on the tree. When he was finally done, Macduff remained quiet for a few moments. Then, ever-so quietly, he drew his sword.

Lennox backed away immediately when he saw the metal shine in the moonlight. He went to reach for his own sword before Macduff offered a gentle hand out. "I'm not going to hurt you, don't worry," he whispered. His face was barely visible from the light reflecting from the sword in front of him, and it bore a softened expression that seemed roughened from the weather. 

Lennox wondered if the weather was all that had roughened it. 

Then, without a word, he slid his own hand into Macduff's and allowed himself to be pulled out of the rain and underneath the shade of the tree.

"This sword," Macduff said, tilting the blade upwards slightly to catch the light, "was used to murder Macbeth. I stabbed him in the stomach, cut off his head..." The background noise seemed to capture him for a second, and he stood next to Lennox in wistful silence for a moment before continuing again. "Sometimes, I find myself wondering whether I could have solved things if I had talked it out with him, but I know I couldn't have."

"But that's different," Lennox blurted out. "You killed the tyrant king- you saved everyone." He looked away from Macduff and tugged up his own sword from the loop on his belt, admiring it as he held it in his hands. "I didn't save anyone, and I refuse to save anyone. It's in my nature."

Macduff stared at him for a few minutes, watching as Lennox fiddled with the weapon in his hand. The light bounced off it immaculately. Sure, maybe it wasn't as durable or trustworthy as Macduff's own, but Macduff supposed that it perhaps had more unconventional uses than an ordinary army sword. 

"You never had to save anyone, Lennox. Don't blame yourself."

Dropping his hand down, Lennox turned his attention away from the blade and onto Macduff. "I'm not blaming myself for anything. I'm just letting you know that I'm a traitor," he restated, looking the other Thane dead in the eye. "I'm a threat to the King, and I'm only concerned for myself, when it comes down it it."

Macduff giggled. "No, you're not."

"Macduff, I'm not trying to be a buzzkill," Lennox said, far more ticked-off than he was when he first came out for his walk. He just wished that Macduff would understand the sincere unplanned confession that he'd accidentally released. "You should stay away from me. I'm telling you this for your own good."

"Exactly."

Holding up his sword to the sky and admiring it for a second, Macduff looked up towards the thunder and rain in the sky. Strangely, it didn't seem as bad as it had been before. "I know you mean well, and what happened was as much my fault as it was yours."

The bright silvery blade of the sword showed a clear reflection of the field from the raindrops coating and running down its surface. Looking up at it, and then back down to Macduff, Lennox felt a strange sense of admiration flood through him. Macduff couldn't be wrong, Lennox knew that much; he was so brave, so noble, and yet he still remained unable to say anything but the blunt and honest truth. 

There was something calming in knowing that some things hadn't changed. Macbeth had taken over Scotland, and Lennox, he had remained loyal in fear of execution. Macduff was the only thing that had stayed constant: Macduff, the Thane of Fife, the justice-driven soldier, his rock.

Lennox relaxed back into Macduff, who seemed slightly surprised by the return of the contact yet didn't reject it. "Maybe you're right," he mumbled, drifting slightly as his eyes fixed themselves on the weather. Perhaps he'd been thinking about this all wrong.

Slowly, Macduff's eyes began to droop, and he leaned further into Lennox's shoulder. Lennox let out a small gasp, barely audible from the sounds of the rain, as he did so, before slowly softening to the experience. The position was, of course, less than comfortable, but he didn't want to wake Macduff, who had already fallen asleep to the soft sounds of the rain. 

The thunder was, of course, threatening, but Lennox feared it far less than he would have in his own home, now that Macduff was there. Tomorrow, he and Macduff could find their ways back to their castles. Tomorrow, they could dry off and go to bed and heal. But maybe, just for that night, they could live through the violent weather.

It was with that thought that Lennox finally slept.

**Author's Note:**

> ayy hello! your boy's back on his bullshit
> 
> i found this almost complete on my wattpad from about 6 months ago, so i figured i'd wrap it up quickly and post it (mostly because all of the macduff online is malduff and i love macdennox more than myself. seriously i don't even dabble in macbeth anymore but i still do lol)
> 
> shoutout to blue once again. i don't think i give them enough credit. they listened to my stupid fucking rants about lennox being the coolest guy in macbeth and my horribly self indulgent transduff when nobody else did. if ur reading this ily platonically <333
> 
> anyways, that's it. i don't really have much to say about this other than i love lennox and i think he's really underdeveloped by the fandom. also i haven't properly beta read it bc i'm lazy and its late and i'm not hyperfixating on macbeth anymore but just take it. k thanks gn gang gang B))


End file.
